Even Teenie’s father had got some one to write for him to his little daughter, for the good honest fellow was not ashamed to confess that he was “no scholard.”
But at the Cape also Antonio had insisted on not only Teenie, but Miss Leona as well, having a thorough new rig-out, as he phrased it, “low and aloft,” and so neither would want for clothes for a year to come at least.
Teenie after supper stole on tiptoe to the captain’s cabin, and presently appeared, lugging along the great guitar, which was nearly as big as herself.
“Play and sing,” she said or commanded, as she handed Antonio the instrument.
“Come, lads,” cried the weird little man, dashing his fingers across the strings, “let us cast care to the winds. There is, you know—
“‘A sweet little cherub who sits up aloft,
To look after the life of poor Jack.’”
Archie laughed.
“He must squat in the foretop then,” he said, “as we’ve got neither main nor mizen for his convenience.”
Song after song did Antonio sing, to the delight of his listeners. His whole soul seemed to well out from the strings of that guitar, so sweet, so sad and low.
But he finished at last.